


He That Walketh Uprightly

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-28
Updated: 2004-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:24:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale likes to think he's an extremely morally upright angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He That Walketh Uprightly

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://musesfool.livejournal.com/profile)[**musesfool**](http://musesfool.livejournal.com/)'s [psalm challenge](http://www.livejournal.com/users/musesfool/617055.html). I was assigned Psalm 15:
> 
> _Pss.15  
>  [1] LORD, who shall abide in thy tabernacle? who shall dwell in thy holy hill?  
>  [2] He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart.  
>  [3] He that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbour, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour.  
>  [4] In whose eyes a vile person is contemned; but he honoureth them that fear the LORD. He that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not.  
>  [5] He that putteth not out his money to usury, nor taketh reward against the innocent. He that doeth these things shall never be moved._

 

 

'Bugger,' Aziraphale said, patting his pockets in dismay. 'I, er, seem to have left my wallet behind. Be a dear, Crowley, would you?'

Crowley raised an eyebrow. 'That's _another_ lunch you owe me,' he said, dropping two fifty-pound notes on the table, and a twenty for the tip. 'Not that I entertain any hope of them, you understand.'

'That's hardly fair,' Aziraphale said as they strolled out into the bright afternoon. 'I bought you lunch only, um --'

'Six years ago, and it was a sandwich,' Crowley said genially. He laughed at Aziraphale's guilty expression. 'Oh, forget it, I'm filthy rich.'

They wandered along, enjoying the late-afternoon sunshine,* and amiably watching the people. London was never exactly tourist-free, but the number of migrating visitors was steadily rising as the days grew longer and warmer. Aziraphale shook his head over the really _awful_ things people thought they could wear, simply because they were in another country. Horrible shorts and sandals adorned far too many people in his field of vision. He sighed as a couple wearing matching cerise checked shorts and even more brightly coloured t-shirts caught him looking.

'God bless America,' he trilled as he went past.

The couple muttered in annoyance and Crowley grinned. 'They're Canadian,' he said.

'I know,' Aziraphale said, with deep satisfaction. He looked around and saw a middle-aged woman lift a purse delicately from another tourist's shoulder bag. _How tiresome_ , he thought, wondering if he should give the pickpocket a sudden burst of conscience. It was such a lovely day, though, and he didn't really want to spoil it by working. He decided to let the matter go. He could always call it in later as a favour from Crowley.

'Would you like an ice-cream?' Crowley asked, his eyes fixing on what Aziraphale saw was a fancy modern ice-cream parlour.

'Do they have whipped cones?' Aziraphale said hopefully as they stood in the cool shop.

' _No_ , they most certainly do not,' Crowley said, receiving two double cones. 'Here you go, Chocolate Temptation and Double Chocolate Chip for you, Mango and Melon for me.'

'Oh, that sounds _far_ too rich,' Aziraphale said, happily taking the cone.

They wandered back out into the sunshine and found a bench to sit on. Although it was really quite a warm day their ice creams stayed satisfyingly frozen. After he had finished his, a thought struck Aziraphale.

'Did you actually pay for those?' he asked.

'She thought I did,' Crowley said, leaning back and gazing lazily upwards. 'I didn't have any more cash on me after lunch.'

'Crowley! That's terrible,' Aziraphale said. 'You can't do things like that just because you want some free food.'

Crowley looked at him over the top of his sunglasses. 'No, that would be petty and wrong,' he said with heavy irony. He sighed as Aziraphale kept up the reproving expression and climbed to his feet. 'All _right_ ,' he said, and looked around for the nearest bank machine.**

They walked back to the ice-cream parlour, and Crowley reluctantly put the money in the till while Aziraphale tried out a few different flavours. Sighing, Crowley added another ten pounds to the till.

Back in the sunshine they meandered towards the Bentley, which was parked in a street that clearly stated it was reserved for pedestrian use. Crowley drove off rather more slowly than he usually did, allowing Aziraphale a fine chance to point out the failings of the people they passed.

'Petty thievery; non-payment of TV license; drinks at work; really stupid shoes; public fornication --'

There was a screech of brakes and Crowley was leaning past him. 'Really? Where?'

'Those two,' Aziraphale said happily, 'just _look_ where she has her hand. Absolutely disgusting.'

'Huh,' Crowley said, sounding disappointed. 'I'd count that as youthful hi-jinks. Anyway, they don't count as public if they're not in a place where the, you know, _public_ , can see them. Four stories up and in a private office makes that _private_ , if you ask me.'

'They should at least close the blinds,' Aziraphale said, still watching, and still sounding happily disgusted. 'Let's go to the park.'

'Well, I have an appoint--,' Crowley began.

'Oh, put it off,' Aziraphale said, 'I'll do it for you tomorrow.'

'Fair enough,' Crowley said, and the car shot off through the crowd of strolling pedestrians.

As they sat in the park, eating more ice-creams Crowley had bought from a van because Aziraphale had said it was the only way to stop him humming _Love Potion No. 9_ , the brightly clad Canadian tourists they had seen before wandered past, taking pictures and happily exclaiming how _green_ England was.

'You know, if my bottom was that big, I don't think I'd wear shorts,' Aziraphale said, just loud enough to be heard.

'Your bottom _is_ that big,' Crowley muttered as the tourists turned to glare at _him_ as the ruder looking person on the bench. 'You're impossible when you get in one of these moods, you do know that, don't you?'

'I'm just giving them the opportunity to do the right thing and forgive me,' Aziraphale said lazily. 'A spot of exercise for their free will. Goodness knows a spot of exercise wouldn't do them any harm.' He looked at his watch and blinked at how late it was. 'I need to get back to the shop. Are you going that way?'

'Not really, but it doesn't matter,' Crowley said. 'It'll only add a few minutes to the journey.'

Very shortly thereafter they pulled up at the end of Aziraphale's street, the angel staggering dazedly out of the car.

'I'll see you around,' Crowley said, but was forestalled by Aziraphale leaning back in.

'Crowley, I seem to have fallen behind on one or two things. I don't suppose you could help me catch up?'

Crowley looked at him steadily, then sighed. 'OK. What do you want me to do?'

'Not much,' Aziraphale said, pulling out a few sheets of foolscap. They were written on neatly, the blue ink covering both sides of each page. Crowley whimpered, then held out a hand to take them. 'Thanks,' Aziraphale said triumphantly.

'You _owe_ me,' Crowley said.

'Yes, yes,' Aziraphale said, 'thank you for lunch, must dash, bye!'

He trotted down to the shop, hearing the Bentley roaring off behind him. He barely made it, waving the door open before him, as he didn't want to waste time looking for his keys. Displaying the most effort he had all afternoon, he sprinted up the stairs to the living-room, checking the time as he ran. With a sigh of relief he turned on his old TV and settled into the most comfortable armchair.

He had almost missed the start of _Eastenders._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

*Which seemed to be at its strongest and warmest in whatever spot they were standing.

**Which was suddenly located within six feet of the bench, rather than at the corner, where it usually was. Crowley hated having to actually _look_ for anything.

 

_Thanks to[](http://louiselux.livejournal.com/profile)_[ **louiselux**](http://louiselux.livejournal.com/) for the beta!


End file.
